


All This and the Wild Too

by littoralbones



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, He is still Lyanna's son, I still hate Rhaegar so that didn't change, Jon Snow is a Stark, The Starks are Wildlings, Wildling AU, Wildling Culture & Customs, Wildlings - Freeform, free folk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 05:58:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14278377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littoralbones/pseuds/littoralbones
Summary: Princess Rhaenys joins her father King Rhaegar in his northern venture to the Wall. Though such a journey promises great adventure, her upcoming marriage to her younger brother Aegon has managed to spoil the whole thing. However, she catches the eye of a wildling named Robb, and he has every intention to steal her. Not without a fight, of course.





	All This and the Wild Too

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a "wildling au" on tumblr, and this fever dream was born. So i took a break from "from the north wind, her fire follows" and here we are (i'll finish that someday). Basically, Bran the Builder never made it "south" (so no "House Stark" as we know it or Winterfell). You get to decide who rules the North (it wasn't relevant to this story, so I didn't bother to figure it out).

The cold didn't bother Rhaenys as much as she expected it to. It was her mother she had to thank for that. Queen Elia spared no expense to make sure that her children remembered what it was to be warm-- even when they were seven hundred feet high, standing atop what all people of Westeros considered the edge of the world. They say it was always winter beyond the Wall, and Rhaenys could believe it. The Wall itself was made from solid ice, stone, and earth (and magic, some whispered). She marveled at the great expanse of wild beauty, a place of thick forests and distant jagged peaks. That midday, the sky had waxed from a glum grey to pale blue. Perhaps that coming night, Rhaenys would see the dancing bands of pink lights again. 

"Enjoying the view, sister?"

A thorny creeper wrapped around her heart at once and yet again. Rhaenys peered behind her shoulder, watching as Aegon ambled over to her. As of late, even the very sight of her little brother aggrieved her. Stony-faced, she returned to the wild lands, and Aegon sighed. "Rhae, please...i'm sorry..." He must have said that a thousand times since his seventeenth nameday-- the day King Rhaegar announced that his daughter and son, keeping to the traditions of their great house, were to be wed. Rhaenys bit the inside of her cheek. It wasn't even Aegon's fault-- that honor belonged to their father. 

"I just don't...how in the seven hells can he do this to us?" Rhaenys sulked, her pleasant mood spoiled. She had spent many days of the two months it took to reach the Wall beseeching her father; she had spoken freely, regardless of who was in their company, and even some members of the Kingsguard had silently begun to pity her. She considered asking her great great uncle Aemon, who happened to be the maester of Castle Black, to help turn her father's mind, but that would've been like asking the blind old man to move a mountain with a mule cart. 

In the corner of her eye, Aegon ran his fingers through his silver-blond hair, as was his wont whenever he was agitated. "Well, he is the king," he remarked. "Mother and Grandmother can only do and say so much." Queen Elia was not pleased. Neither was Dowager Queen Rhaella, who was wed (mostly unhappily) to her own brother, the late King Aerys-- unfortunately, before he had died, he had seen his younger son and only daughter, Viserys and Daenerys, wed in the Great Sept of Baelor. "Father's already got Lord Connington making arrangements back home." And there lived no Hand of the King more loyal to a king than Jon Connington was to his.

"So it's done then," Rhaenys said bitterly.

Aegon looked away, and abandoned any further word of it. He strode in the direction of the great iron cage and winch that the black brothers used to ascend and descend the face of the Wall. Rhaegar had been at meeting with the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch nearly all morning, accessing the state of Watch and what threats lurked beyond the Wall. He was the first king to visit Castle Black in over a hundred years. It was all a part of his great excursion to better know his country, and for the people to know their new king. One that Rhaenys had been thrilled to be a part of-- it all should have been a splendid adventure, but now, there was only the leeching dread of what was to come when it was all over. 

Rhaenys wiped away angry tears before they could freeze upon her face. She was eighteen and the blood of the dragon. She could not let this best her. There was naught else to do but to survive it. She composed herself, wondering how her mother was able to do it so quick and gracefully, and followed her brother. Luckily, Aegon was still idling, so she did not have to wait for the cage-and-crane to return from the foot of the Wall. He was speaking to a boy no older than he was. The boy was all garbed in black, as what all men of Night's Watch wore. "I knew you couldn't stay up here forever," Aegon remarked, as she came their way. He was trying to mend her sprits, as he always did. 

"Watch me," Rhaenys grumbled. Aegon gave her a half-smile, beckoning for her to enter the cage first. It wasn't much warmer in there, but at least she got some respite from the icy wind. As the cage began its slow descent down, the two stood in silence. Rhaenys watched their reflections of the glass-pane windows. How many strangers would guess that they were brother and sister? Aegon took after their Targaryen father, with his silver hair and indigo eyes; not quite the fabled amethyst those of House Targaryen were known for, but they were Valyrian enough. Rhaenys, however, favored their mother, a Martell of Sunspear. She was dusky while Aegon was fair. Hair the black of a crow's wing and eyes of deep brown. Some whispered that she looked too common to be a Targaryen princess, too Dornish to be a dragon-- King Aerys, while he had lived, had not bothered with whispers. Rhaenys could never admit it no more than Queen Elia could-- she was glad the mad old king was dead.

"I was thinking we could go riding," Aegon suddenly said, interrupting her thoughts. "Not too far, of course."

"Who's we?" Rhaenys asked.

"Whatever guard Father sends," he replied. "I know Ser Arthur won't let us from his sight. Uncle Leywn as well."

She considered it. There wasn't much to do at Castle Black; at least she would get a chance to properly see the North's beauty on that side of the Wall. "Alright."

When they finally reached the foot of the Wall, Rhaenys returned to her quarters in the King's Tower to change into proper riding attire. A riding gown of charcoal-colored wool trimmed with sable, a matching hooded fur cloak, a woolen red scarf around her neck, and fur lined doeskin breeches underneath. At the very last moment, she secured a dagger to her belt. It was a gift from her Uncle Oberyn-- the hilt was black stained wood, wrapped with supple black leather, with a dragon's head for a pommel and tiny rubies for its eyes. Its blade was Valyrian steel, dark and rippled. Rhaenys always thought that a princess should have been just as armed as a prince, if not more. She tightened the laces of her knee-high boots and pulled her leather gloves back on. 

Out to the main yard, she saw who would be joining her and Aegon. Ser Arthur and Prince Leywn, as her brother had guessed, along with their squires. Three other knights sworn to House Targaryen and a couple of black brothers. Aegon was the first to notice the dagger on her person. "Who do you intend to bleed today, sister?" He teased. 

A squire of the Watch had already brought out her mare, and Rhaenys mounted her at once. "Wildlings," she jested, tossing her long braid behind her shoulder.

"You've none to worry about 'round here, princess," the young squire called Edd told her. "They won't dare come so close to Castle Black."

Growing excited by the moment, Rhaenys was prepared to bound out the castle's gates, but before she could, she espied her father, flanked by Ser Jaime Lannister, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and Jeor Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. King Rhaegar watched his children with a proud smile upon his pale face. "Seeing to your own adventure, then?" He asked.

"The Targaryens haven't been north in over a hundred years, Father," Aegon reminded him. "We ought to make the most of our visit." 

"Indeed you should," Rhaegar replied, looking pleased. Aegon was his heir, after all, and it did him well to do what Rhaegar would and more. "But be careful. We are still strangers to these lands."

"Of course, Father."

Rhaegar turned to look at Rhaenys, who was keeping a still face while his was still smiling. "Enjoy your ride, dearest," he said. She nodded politely, but as she rode away, she did not look back to him.

\---

"Wait for me!"

Robb halted atop the verdant hill, looking behind his shoulder as his little sister hurried up the gentle slope. _Not so little anymore_ , Robb thought. Arya was twelve now, and upon her first raid. Still, there was much of a girl in Arya, especially when she made it to the crown of the hill and her dark grey eyes widened. Robb couldn't help a grin-- his face must have been the very same when he saw the sweeping valleys on his own first raid. Rolling hills of deep greens and wildflowers, and gentle streams that were as quiet as bird song. "Pretty, isn't it?" Robb asked.

Arya nodded. "You can't even see the Wall."

"That thing does spoil the look," Robb smiled, mussing his sister's dark brown hair. Their mother had been frightened to send her off to raid, but there was no doubt that Arya was meant to be a spearwife. She was as swift as a deer and as quiet as a shadow, small enough to crawl into unlikely places like a hare to its burrow. She wielded her bronze dirks as a wolf did its teeth. 

"Would you two get down from there!" They heard their cousin Jon hiss.

Robb peered the short way down the hill, where his cousin was surely clenching his jaw. Jon was only a few moons older than Robb was, and he certainly acted like it. He looked more a brother to Arya than he did-- while they all shared old blood of Brandon the Builder, only Jon and Arya truly shared his coloring. Long faces, with dark brown hair and dark grey eyes. Robb, his two younger brothers, and his other sister favored their mother, a woman from a tribe of the Milkwater; auburn hair and sky blue eyes. 

Robb held his head high; though younger, _he_ was the firstborn son of the Magnar of Starkdalen. "There's no one around for miles," he insisted. "The crow nest is far away, and the kneelers keep to their castles."

"He's right, Jon," their cousin Beron remarked. He had been sitting upon a mossy boulder, whetting his arrows. Beron was fourteen, but spoke as though he had been raiding for twenty years and more. Like his older brother and sister, they had their father's long face but their own mother had given them her grey-green eyes and dun hair. "We've been here for days, and not a single man or crow to be heard from." He sounded disappointed. 

"No reason to ease our guard," Jon retorted, turning his back to the hill. Arya muttered something about him being always being grumpy, and hurried down the slope to annoy him about it. Robb eased himself down as well, looking around for the rest of their lot. Creg and Marna, Beron's older siblings, were some ways away, guarding their spoils. 

"Good stow, this one," Creg called out to him. The great risk of raiding near the crow nest had proven bountiful-- a couple of short swords and daggers forged from iron, pelts from various southern creatures, some pieces of silver, and rolls of woven wool and silk. "About time to go home, you think?"

"Aye," Robb agreed. There was fun and excitement to be had in raiding, but he missed the rest of his family too.

"Think Father can smith some proper swords from these?" Marna asked, grabbing one by its hilt; they were quite shorter than the ones kneelers often wielded. Robb didn't see why he could not. Back when his uncle Benjen raided, he took knowledge as well as iron from Mole's Town. "Mother can do what she likes with the silk."

"Make a pretty dress for Beron," Creg quipped, and his little brother brandished an arrow in his direction. 

"For Sansa, more likely," Robb remarked. His other sister could not have been more different from Arya-- the sun and the moon as their mother oft called them. Sansa was gentle and soft-spoken, preferring a song over a spear; though, she did know how to wield a dagger if need be. Given how beautiful Sansa grew to be, her own auburn hair even lighter and more fire-kissed than their mother's own, it should've come to no surprise if some man stole into their village to carry her off. However, Robb knew a man stupid enough to sneak into Starkdalen and get caught would never live to speak of it. 

Jon, who had been keeping sentry near the hill with Arya, suddenly stood up from the grass. "Kneelers," he quietly warned. 

"You 'fraid o' kneelers now?" Beron grunted, coming off of the boulder.

All six of them crowded at the shadow of the hill, ducking their heads to not be seen as the kneelers made their way by. There were nine of them, all mounted and trotting along an eastern way. Two of them were crows, but the rest were finely clad. "Look at those two," Beron whispered, gesturing towards the men dressed in white and silver armor. But Robb's attention was drawn to the slender figure in dark grey-- a girl, he realized. Her face was tawny-brown and her hair the black of a cloudless night, woven back in a tousled braid. She was obviously one of those noble born ladies, the daughter of some southron lord, but she rode as well as any free woman. Robb had never seen anyone like her, nor had he ever seen a girl more beautiful.

"Robb," Creg whispered. "When they pass, we leave."

"Hold on a moment," Marna said, a wide grin upon her face. "I think the man sees something he wants."

Robb tore his eyes away from the girl. "What'd you mean?" 

"You know, cousin."

He bit his lower lip. Something had stirred within him and left a mark upon his heart. He knew the mark would ail him lest he did something about it. "The Thief is bright," Beron remarked. "I seen it last night."

"Steal a southron girl?" Jon asked, looking at Robb and rest of them as though they had all gone mad. "A delicate little thing? Robb, you'd be happier for a northern girl, I swear you that."

"And what do you know about girls?" He challenged. 

Meanwhile, Beron was already nocking an arrow. "Right. We'll start a fight, scare her horse off, and she's yours for the taking." He looked down at Arya. "Learn well little wolf. A man shall do just the same with you someday."

"No man is going to steal me!" Arya hissed, already banishing her bronze dirk.

Robb gazed back to the kneelers, to the night-haired girl in grey, and his heart yearned.

\---

The northlands were breathtaking, a sight that warmed the heart despite the cold. They followed a gently worn and winding path east of Castle Black that wove along and between the rolling hills. Rhaenys kept a slow pace, not in any hurry to return to the castle. Aegon kept pace with her, though she wished he didn't. "It feels so wild here, doesn't it?" He asked.

"It does," she replied earnestly. A far cry from their home in King's Landing, where nearly a million people were cramped within a roughly square city. Not even the Red Keep could avoid the awful stench of it, the reek of sweat, smoke, sour wine, and other things that her septa would deem unladylike to mention. But there, the winds were clean and crisp, and sweet with the scent of wildflowers and the musky earth that embraced the meadows. 

Aegon smiled, patted his horse's neck as he spoke again. "Rhae...I was thinking...maybe it won't be so bad after all."

Her good mood was spoiled once again; she did not have to take too many guesses to know what _it_ meant. "What are you saying?"

He gazed at her, his indigo eyes almost purple in the daylight. "There's no use in fighting Father over this. At least if we find it in us to abide, we won't be miserable the rest of our life."

" _Our_ life," Rhaenys said dryly. "You mean the one where a sister has to bed her little brother?"

Aegon looked annoyed. "If you keeping saying it like that--"

"That's what it is Aegon!" In a dark rage, Rhaenys kicked her horse, spurring ahead of them all. 

_"Rhaenys!"_ She heard Prince Lewyn call out. She also heard Aegon say: _"Leave her be, uncle..."_

 _The gall of him!_ Rhaenys brooded. She had lost an important ally in this misery Rhaegar kindled-- her own and only brother. What could that have possibly meant? Did Aegon secretly desire her? Did he yearn for nights of sharing her bed? The very thought made her sick to her belly. Rhaenys slowed the horse to a halt, just as a cloy voice in her mind told her keep going; the voice grew louder as the horses behind her did. Suddenly, she heard someone cry out. 

Wrenching back the reins, Rhaenys twisted the horse around and saw the men were being ambushed by rough-clothed figures, clad in fur and leather, and wielding swords of bronze and short-spears. _Wildlings!_ Rhaenys realized. 

"RUN!" Ser Arthur yowled at her, his greatsword Dawn a band of pure silver in his hand. 

Her heartbeat seemed to rattle her whole body, but somehow, she found it in her to kick her horse and flee the skirmish. Desperate to get far from there, Rhaenys spurred the horse east, further away from Castle Black and towards leas where the hills began to swell in size, and the grounds more rugged. Then all of a sudden, the earth gave away beneath the horse's feet, sending them both over a short but sharp steep. Rhaenys fell from her saddle, and luckily, the horse tumbled away from her. The poor creature kicked up grass and dirt in her panicked hurry to get back up, and when she did, she ran right off. Breathless and dizzy from the fall, Rhaenys pushed herself onto an elbow, helplessly watching as her mount left her behind. 

Once the sky and ground no longer seemed tilted together, she carefully found her feet. While trying to stay her breath and heart, she looked all around her, hoping to find some bearings. _Should I go back?_ Rhaenys wondered, biting her lip. _What if they were still fighting? How long would they go on?_ But first, she wouldn't know any of that until she found her way back. Rhaenys scampered back up the slope where she had fallen. Before she could even think about how vulnerable she was alone there, someone grabbed her around her middle.

She screeched, struggling against the captor with all the fire in her until they both fell to the ground. She took that chance to kick their leg with the heel of her boot; at once, they released her in a grunt of pain. Rhaenys clambered up and in a biting fury, she yanked the dagger from her belt, ready to slit the throat of whoever dared to touch her like that. When she turned around to face them, she saw it was a man, no older than she was, with dark auburn curls and short beard, and eyes the blue of a summer sky-- and he was a wildling, that was plain to see, garbed in the same clothing as those who had attacked them. "That was more of a fight than I expected," he said, wincing as he rose, the arrows in the quiver at his back clattering together as he did.

"If you want another, you'll have it!" Rhaenys hissed, gripping the dagger's hilt as she kept the point on him. 

"You've a fire in your belly for a southron girl," the wildling remarked. "What's your name?"

She watched him carefully, expecting him to lunge at her at any moment. The Lord Steward of the Night's Watch told her that all wildlings were more beast than men, that their tribes and clans were thick with savages, raiders, and rapers. She refused to be deceived by his calmness; should this wildling strike her suddenly, she would die a fool. "Rhaenys."

"Rhaenys," he echoed in his wildling tongue. "That's pretty." 

She wasn't even sure what to say. She was already distressed and lost-- it also didn't help that he had the most lovely eyes that she had ever seen. "W-what's yours?"

"Robb."

Rhaenys swallowed, her heart still beating in her throat. "Why did you attack us?"

"I didn't. My kin did."

Well that didn't change the question. "Why?"

He smiled slyly, taking a step closer to her. Rhaenys took one step back, her dagger's point never leaving him. "I don't know what men o' the kneelers do," said Robb. "But a free man steals a girl like the treasure she is."

Rhaenys flinched. He meant to _steal_ her?! She heard that wildling raiders were known to carry northern woman off beyond the Wall. She never thought in a thousands years that she could be one of them. She should have plunged the dagger right through his furs and into his heart, but she could not find the will to. Instead, Rhaenys pushed against the wilding's chest with an open palm, and ran, down and over the knolls. She would rather be lost than a wench of a wildling.

The meadows were lush and barren all at once-- there were no thickets or trees or anything to hide within or behind. Her best chance was to find a vale or high hill, but in her haste and panic, everything blurred together and made her lightheaded. Once her lungs felt like they were about to burst, Rhaenys finally forced herself to stop. Everything was quiet, but the wildling had snuck up behind with such light steps, and she found herself peering over her shoulder every few feet she walked. As the paranoia gnawed at her belly, she kept walking upland. She hoped the higher that she went, the more she was able to see from the height; the Wall for a certain. 

But she didn't make it very far pass the foot of the hill; a blur of smoke-grey streaked in front of her, abruptly stoping her in her path-- a wolf, larger than Rhaenys ever thought one could be. Its yellow eyes burned into her like molten gold. She waited for it to leap at her while bearing teeth, but rather, it stood its ground, merely hindering her way. Through its panting jaws, she saw the white of long teeth and fangs. Rhaenys clutched the dagger, afraid to turn her back to the beast. 

"He won't hurt you," she heard Robb the wildling say. She whipped around, and he was standing a little more than half a foot from her. At least he had the sense to not grab her again. But Rhaenys, terribly furious, threw herself at him, knocking them both to the ground. Robb seized her left wrist, but she was quicker, and she held the edge of the steel to his throat. "Will you bleed me, nihhara?" He asked. The word was completely strange to her, but the way he said it, it sounded like something a man would speak to his ladylove. 

Rhaenys clambered off of the wildling, disgusted with him and herself. "Sun's gonna fall soon," Robb remarked, rising from the ground. "You've nowhere to go." She pressed her lips together in a hard line. "Don't know where my kin went," he went on, searching through the lands. "We'll find them on the morrow."

" _We?_ " Rhaenys could have laughed if she wasn't so miserable. "I'm not going anywhere with you, wildling!"

"Where else would you go?" 

"Back to Castle Black," she replied boldly, only able to imagine what chaos had roused there. However, she was quite uncertain about the way. Find north, perhaps, and follow it until she saw the Wall. Then follow it back west. It seemed reasonable. 

"What'd you doing in a crow nest?" Robb asked. "They don't like girls there."

 _Crow nest?_ "I went there with my father."

"Your father a crow?"

"No," said Rhaenys, realizing he meant the black brothers, calling them crows for all the black they wore. "My father is King Rhaegar Targaryen."

At the word _king_ , Robb grinned. "I stole a princess?"

She glared at him, indignant. "You didn't steal me!"

"I took you from your way, and every step of it, you put up a fight."

"Then what makes you believe you won?" 

"Still got me throat, don't I?"

"For now."

Rhaenys had never seen a man more happy. Still smiling, Robb gazed out to the horizon. "Come on, princess," he said. "Lest you rather sleep out here." 

"I told you!" She hissed. "I'm not going with you!"

Robb looked at her up and down. "You don't seem so heavy. I can throw you over my shoulder as easy as a bundle o' wood."

The fear had begun to return to her, but if the wildling knew, he could easily take advantage of that. "You will do no such thing!" Rhaenys spat. She tightly gripped the dagger's hilt but it felt like grasping sand, threatening to slip from her fingers at any moment. "Just let me go...please."

"The dark will come," Robb said gently. "Quicker than you know. I can't leave you alone out here."

"Oh now you're so noble?!" Rhaenys retorted, growing angry once more. "After you and your kind attacked my brother and my father's men, just so you can steal me for your own? All you know is taking what's not yours, and nothing of honor!"

Robb was as quick as that wolf of his-- he snatched her wrist, the hand that clutched the dagger, and wrenched the steel away from her. "You think those crows more honorable than me?" He asked her, dropping the dagger to the ground. His voice was dangerously low. "What 'bout your king father?" Rhaenys tried to pull her hand from him, but the wildling would not yield; he easily caught her free hand when she tried to strike him with it, his fingers curling around her wrists like shackles. "These lands were all ours to share, once. Then _your kind_ came with iron and greed, put up a wall, and sent crows out to kill us all. Is _that_ what you call honor?"

Rhaenys balled her fingers into fists, glowering up at him bravely. She silently prayed to the Maid, wondering if She would hear her from so far north, where older gods ruled. "There'll be no honor in taking mine," she said through gritted teeth. 

Robb's face softened at once. "Oh...don't fear for that, nihhara...I would never do such a thing." His fingers slackened, and Rhaenys quickly drew her hands back, folding her arms tightly against her chest. Robb crouched down to retrieve her dagger, and he handed it back to her, hilt first. She wearily reached for it. "Could've cut my throat, but you didn't," he pointed out. Rhaenys idly traced the dragon head at the pommel with her thumb. She'd nothing to say about that. 

Robb glanced at the sky. "Let's go now."

With little prospect in anything else, Rhaenys sheathed the dagger and followed him. The wolf bounded along side her, his tail lashing. They walked in silence, treading across the meadow until the sun was low and bitter gusts ruffled the hills.

At last, the wildling stood at the edge of a hollow, a dip in the ground where the furthest end of it was shallow, looking pleased. Rhaenys peered below and saw why-- the steep face of it would protect them well from the wind, as well as shield them from whatever else roamed the moors. Robb held his hand to her, likely to help her down, but she ignore it and carefully found her own footing. The grass at the bottom was soft and there were hardly any stones to poke and prod them. "No fire," Robb said, as he easily scaled down the hollow. "Someone might see." Rhaenys wasn't sure what else was lurking out there. Seeing in the sense in that, she sat on her cloak and leaned against the face of the hollow, hugging her knees and begging the gods to see the end to this nightmare. 

"It'll be warmer to stay close," he remarked.

"Don't touch me."

"I won't. I won't....you've my word." Rhaenys stared at him. What good was a wildling's word? "In the North, a man's word's all you got," Robb remarked, setting his quiver and bow aside. He and his wolf slumped down some feet away from her, and they all sat in silence as the sun fell. Rhaenys gazed above her, finding some ease in the pink and orange sky. Then came an inky black sky and tens of thousands of twinkling stars. But with the beauty came a dreadful cold that settled upon the earth. At least in the dark, the wildling wouldn't have seen her shivering; or so she thought. Rhaenys heard him whisper to his wolf, and the massive grey creature padded over to her. She flinched as it nestled its warm furred body against her.

"Said he won't hurt you," Robb uttered. 

He might have been truthful. The wolf was as relaxed as any lapdog and seemingly just as sweet. Rhaenys even found the courage to reach out and stroke his broad head. "Does he have a name?" She asked.

"Grey Wind."

Rhaenys remembered the blur of grey that had startled her earlier, and saw just where the wildling found his name. "How did he get so big?"

"He's no ordinary wolf. He's a direwolf." No direwolf had been sighted south of the Wall in two hundred years. Many thought them as dead as the dragons were. Rhaenys wondered just what else roamed beyond the Wall. "Think he likes you, nihhara," Robb remarked.

In the sky, the moon was nearly waxed, and its gleam shone some light upon them. Rhaenys couldn't help but peer over to where Robb was. "Why do you call me that?"

"For your hair...it's... it's a pretty night as this one." Rhaenys quickly looked away from him, and she began to toy with the hem of her scarf. Even Robb seemed to quiet down for once, though not for long. "See that red star?" He asked, pointing towards the sky. Rhaenys knew it at once-- the red wanderer as she was taught, or the Smith's star. "That's the Thief. When it comes to the Moonmaid, a man'll have luck to claim a wife."

"You mean steal a woman?" Rhaenys asked dryly.

"Aye." She could hear the amusement in his voice. 

"Haven't you a way less wicked?"

"How else will a man know his wife'll be strong? Or a woman taken by a man worthy o' her?"

"They could...speak to each other." Robb chuckled. It sounded like there wasn't much courting beyond the Wall. "And what if she's already taken?"

"Then she's left be. Men must only steal daughters, not the wife o' another. Else that's one way to get geld." Well. Some decency wandered among them. "Why?" Robb asked. "Have you a lad waiting to claim you?" 

"...Yes," Rhaenys replied, reluctantly knowing it to be true enough. "Aegon."

"He a prince? A prince for a princess?"

"He's my brother." She did not mean to say that, but it slipped out all the same, as though she could not shroud the miserable truth of it to anyone, not even a wildling. She heard Robb scrabble up from his patch of grass. He stood over her, and in the moonlight, his face was ghostly pale.

"You'd wed your brother?" He uttered. "That's vile!"

Rhaenys stared up at him. She thought the wildlings to have no scruples, but this one seemed to have more than her father and brother did. "It is."

"But you would've done it?"

"I don't have a choice!" She spat. "My father said it so, and his word is law."

"What father curses his children so?" 

The wildlings likely had no knowings of House Targaryen and their custom of incestuous marriages, but in Westeros, all knew and scorned them for it. There, the sept and godswood (and now the wildlings, it appeared) found their common place-- such unions were a hideous sin, and all children born from them were abominations. But the Targaryens reigned as kings and queens, so the Westeroi people kept their condemnations to themselves. "In my family," Rhaenys began quietly. "Since the dawn of our time, they wed brother to sister, cousin to cousin, uncle to niece and aunt to nephew, just to keep their bloodline pure. The blood of the dragon, they are still known to be. My grandfather was angry when my father had no sister to marry, but now... my father wishes to start the custom again."

"And your folk call us savages." Robb looked back up to the red wanderer, the Thief as he called it. "More a reason to steal you from this land."

"You can't steal me," Rhaenys said haggardly, too tired to argue about it. "I'm not a sheep or a sack of apples."

His eyes came down from the sky and unto her. "Then come with me, Rhaenys," he said gently. 

Run away with a wildling? She curled her fingers against Grey Wind's fur. The idea of it was mad. It was plain that he desired her, as he thought to steal her for his bride. Yet, a fate even madder awaited her back in King's Landing; what Rhaenys had dreaded the most was her mother's face when she saw her only children taking wedding vows in the Great Sept, a brother draping a bride's cloak upon his sister's shoulders. A brother who was apparently no longer opposed to bedding his own sister. It felt more backwards with Robb, the wildling who promised that he wouldn't so much touch her. "I'm tired," she whispered. That was true, but she mostly felt trapped. 

Robb sighed, and returned to his sleeping place. "Sleep now, nihhara."

In her heart, Rhaenys knew he would leave her be. 

\---

The sun began to rise over the kneelers' lands. Robb's first sight upon waking had been the southron princess, curled against Grey Wind, both still peacefully asleep. Sometime during the night, she must have unraveled her braid-- long and loose black curls spilled over her shoulder. He had want to reach out and take one between his fingers, but the girl would have likely sliced his hand from his wrist with her dagger if he tried. Jon had called her a delicate little thing, and he smiled at just how wrong his cousin was. Robb hadn't known what to expect when he left his kin to chase her, but it was more than he could have dreamed for. He watched as Rhaenys stirred, coming to wake. For a fleeting moment, she looked terribly confused, and her head lifted from the direwolf's fur at once. She truly was a lovely sight, with her high cheek bones, curved nose, and earthy brown eyes.

"Where will we go, wife?" Robb called out, knowing calling her so would rile her. 

And he was right. "I am not your wife!" Rhaenys snapped. She stumbled to her feet, and gathered her hair behind her neck so that it all tumbled behind her back. Robb stood up as well and kept watching her as she walked to the shallow end of the hollow. The rising sun casted its warm light upon the highlands, and where her dark curls caught some of that light, it shone silver. Just as yesterday, when he first saw her, something pleasantly warm stirred in his heart and trailed down to his fingertips. "True enough," he agreed. "Not 'till we lay together."

"So never," she grumbled. 

"I understand. You're keeping your maiden flower for your brother."

Rhaenys didn't say anything. She only looked out to the horizon of pale pink and purple, clenching her jaw. Robb pitied her greatly. He ambled to her, keeping a fair enough distance to keep her at ease. "The Bay o' Seals is four days journey from here," he told her. "My kin'll be there if not 'round here." 

She tilted her face towards him. Robb saw that her brown eyes had caught the sunlight as well, and they glowed like pieces of amber. He was beginning to think that she wasn't the one who was stolen. "Do you still think i'll go with you?" Rhaenys asked.

Robb swallowed hard, curling his fingers into his palms. "I'll steal you again if I must, as cruel as you think it be." A crueler path awaited her in those accursed lands, one that he was determine to release her from. "Lay with your brother, and you will be cursed. Your children shall be blighted. You deserve strong sons and sweet daughters." 

Rhaenys furrowed her brow in anger, and the amber in her eyes burned like embers. "All my life, people have told me what they think I deserve," she hissed. "And you are the last man who should say anything."

"I think a girl like you was meant to be free."

Her eyes went back to the sun, and Robb thought he saw them glistening; he knew he was right as she walked away in a haste. Wistful, he left her be, though he had no intentions of leaving her. He looked back to Grey Wind, whose jaws had opened in an enormous yawn. "She's her own wildness," Robb murmured. The direwolf yelped softly, and left to pad after her.

Meanwhile, Robb walked around the hollow, to the high brim to look around, hoping to espy his cousins or his little sister, or her own direwolf as well as Jon's. But nothing stirred out in that chilly grey morn. Robb turned around, relieved to see that Rhaenys hadn't gone far from him. Some feet away from the hollow, she sat in the grass, her knees drawn to her chest, looking lonelier than Robb had ever seen anyone be. Yesterday, all he had seen was a pretty girl he thought to steal for himself; now, he saw something even more precious underneath that beauty. 

The distant sound of hooves drew Robb out from his haze. He looked to the north of him, where the dark silhouette of a horse hurtled over the hill. Before he could warn Rhaenys, an arrow flew past him and embedded in the earth, a bit too close. Robb quickly reached for his own bow, the attacker in full sight of him-- a young man with silver hair. Robb remembered him from the prior day, from the pack Rhaenys had been riding with. After nocking another arrow, the kneeler leapt nimbly from the saddle, his features twisted into pure hate. "Where's my sister, wildling?!" He spat. 

\---

 _Aegon!_ She heard his voice, angrier than she had ever known, iron tones striking against each other like a pair of greatswords. In her haste, Rhaenys nearly tripped over the hem of her skirts, and scampered back to the hollow. She was greeted by the sight of her brother and the wildling, bows in both of their grips. Grey Wind began to snarl, frightening the horse away; but Aegon didn't even seemed bothered at all. "Rhaenys!" He breathed, almost tenderly. As soon as he saw her, released his bowstring. Robb hadn't even see the arrow as it flew at him, distracted by her, and struck him in his arm, just below his shoulder. He staggered, and dropped his bow with a yelp; even Rhaenys felt a heavy pit drop into her belly. "Run now!" Aegon urged, nocking another arrow, this time, pointing it at Grey Wind. "Go!"

But Rhaenys did not run. She kept closer to Robb, watching as his trembling fingers as they seized the arrow's shaft. He clenched his jaw and wrenched it from him with another painful groan. "Grey Wind...don't," he commanded. The direwolf would have surely torn Aegon to flesh and bone, and Robb knew that as well-- and if he did, why not allow it, if he had want to steal Rhaenys away? 

"Aegon, put that bow down now!" Rhaenys demanded. 

But he refused. "I never been so frightened when Uncle Leywn found your horse," said Aegon. "And you weren't atop its saddle. I spent from that hour to this one thinking about what terrible things those savages might've done to you. I thought our future was taken from me, but now... now it's right." There was something strange about him, and it made Rhaenys' skin crawl with gooseflesh. "We never know what we have until we lose it. Now that we're together again, I know now. You will be my wife, and someday, my queen."

 _No, this wasn't right._ "I don't want to!" Rhaenys shrieked, for what must have been the thousandth time since Aegon's nameday. "I don't want you!" 

"Rhae... sweetling, please."

"Don't call me that! Don't! Are you mad!?" Where was her little brother? The little boy whose silver hair she used to braid while he sat uncomplainingly. The little boy she played monsters-and-maidens with her in the Red Keep's godswood. The little boy who also pretended that her black cat was indeed Balerion, the Black Dread of old. The little boy who was as close as a companion as any, from their hunts in the kingswood to their visits to Sunspear. What happened to that boy, and when did he die to become the man before her? 

Aegon gave her a sardonic smile. "Perhaps. It runs in the family, does it not?" It did, but it was no matter to jest about. "I heard what people said of you. Of us. Grandfather, most of all. They said our dragonblood was impure. It's not, Rhae. We can show them all how wrong they were..." His brow suddenly furrowed, and Rhaenys felt Robb brush against her shoulder.

"I'll keep him busy," he grunted, though he was still clutching his arm. "You get away."

Rhaenys' heart was beating in her throat. With each whet of it, her blood burned in her veins. She felt smothered, like a cowering creature, dreading for a pair of gnarled fingers to seize her and lock her in a cage. Every fear she ever felt fastened a gilded chain around her neck. _And this wildling...this damned wildling..._

She reached down to pick up his fallen bow, and then she plucked an arrow from his quiver, silently beseeching the gods for steady hands and breath. "Rhaenys, what are you doing?" Aegon demanded, as she deftly fitted it to the bowstring. 

"Go b-back to Castle Black and tell our father that I am d-done." Her voice and hands shook as the words spilled from her, but she steadied as they didn't stop. "I'm done with the endless whispers... the insults to my blood, that sty of a city, and the peddling of my heart and flesh to you."

"And you called me the mad one," Aegon said coldly.

"I rather be mad and free than sound and your wife." Rhaenys waited for him to lower his bow, to agreed, for her sake, that their betrothal was mistake. But it never came. She spoke what she dreaded the most. "Our betrothal didn't hurt you like it did to me... You _wanted_ it."

"Why be so wrong for it?" Aegon murmured. "Aegon the Conqueror married Visenya out of duty, but Rhaenys out of desire." Rhaenys' fingers curled tighter around the white wood of Robb's bow, to stay her shaking hands. "You wouldn't," he claimed. "Kinslaying is a sin."

"You're no kin to that direwolf," Robb uttered. His breath was staring to come heavy. "Be on your way lest you want to know his teeth."

Aegon sneered. "You've threaten the crown prince, and you stole his betrothed. I'll have your head for that and more, wildling."

"No, you won't!" Rhaenys spat. Aegon was a terrible stranger now, someone who smothered her little brother to death with dark desires. "Leave him alone. Leave _me_ alone or I swear to the gods old and new..." She tautened the bowstring, the arrowhead fixed at her brother's leg. "Aegon...don't make me do this..."

The look upon his face frightened her as much as it broke her heart. "Have it your way!" He stormed, relaxing his bowstring. But his rage then twisted into a strange smile. "You'll change your mind, Rhae," Aegon claimed, sticking the arrow back into his quiver. "You're a princess for gods' sake. You've no life awaiting you in these wilds, and certainly none with that savage!" Rhaenys bit her tongue, watching as Aegon slung his bow over his shoulder and looked around for his mount. He cursed, and left them at last, stalking down up and over a hill without so much a last glance behind him. 

Numbed, Rhaenys lowered the bow. The ground felt broken underneath her, though the earth was trying to swallow her whole. _What happened? What had she done?_ She blinked, trying to regain herself as she turned to Robb. Blood soaked through his furs, and his hand was wet and red. "That looks awful," she said quietly.

Robb winced. "It's nothing, nihhara." 

"It's not nothing." She slipped the arrow back into his quiver. "Let me look at it."

"Let's get far from here first."

Rhaenys nodded, glad to. They walked what he said was east, until the hollow was a far way behind them. Rhaenys spotted a creek at the bottom of a hill, and urged Robb in that direction, while Grey Wind stayed high to keep watch. Great smooth stones lined the flank of the babbling water. She had him perch upon one of them, helped shrug away his shirts of fur and boiled leather until he was bare from the waist up. Aegon's arrow pierced him just beneath his shoulder, but the leather of his sleeve had prevented it from going deeper. Still, the wound was dripping blood, all the way down to his wrist. "Said it was nothing," Robb remarked. He smiled, but Rhaenys knew pain when she saw it. 

"Well, it won't kill you." She peeled away her gloves and pulled her sleeves to her forearm. She then took the scarf from her neck, and with her dagger, she slashed a piece to use for a rag. A healer would have used boiling wine or firemilk to cleanse a wound, along with a poultice of mustard seeds, nettles, and musty bread. But there, all she had was the cold flowing water. Rhaenys walked a few feet to soak and wring the rag. After all the blood was washed from his skin, she slit another length of her scarf to bind the wound with. As Rhaenys tied it, she realized her hands were still shaking. _What have I done?_ She felt as if there was sand choking her throat. _She ran off with a wildling_ is what Aegon would surely say to their father, and Ser Arthur, Prince Leywn, Ser Jaime, and every man of the Night's Watch. 

But what could she do now? She was too frightened to go back the Castle Black, now that she had seen what her brother was. There were many repercussions to be had from of this. Rhaenys bit her lip, biting back tears as well. After she knotted the makeshift bandage, Robb reached for one of her hands. His own were rough, but gentle. He drew a calloused fingertip over her knuckle, then turned her hand over to trace the lines of her palms. The blood beneath her fingertips began to shiver, and it chased a warmth through her veins. "I'm sorry, Rhaenys," he said softly. "I don't...I don't know the words to make you feel better...but I can promise you...you're safe now. You're free."

It must have been the tenderness in which Robb held her hand with, and that of what he had said; something about him made Rhaenys safe enough to feel vulnerable. She began to sob, as the feeling of a hundred things came down upon her. Strong arms wrapped around her, drawing her close, and he stroked her hair as she wept. Rhaenys' life was gone, and she had taken it from herself. She chose exile over duty. She chose a wildling over her brother.

"Robb," she murmured, speaking his name for the first time. "Why did you want to...steal me?"

" 'Cause when I saw your face, you lit a fire in me heart. I spent me life 'round a great many fires, but I nev'er knew a warmth like yours." 

Rhaenys lifted her eyes unto his face. Where she thought she had seen a wildling brute, she saw eyes like a summer sea, warm and bright with blue, and a kind face that she would confess was quite handsome. Underneath the furs, he was stockily built, with pale scars in some places and dark hair across his chest, a thin line of it down his belly and even lower than that. Rhaenys swallowed the rising lump in her throat. Princesses didn't dare fall in love; it was easier that way, when she was raised knowing that her father would promise her to a man he deemed worthy of her and her name. But just as life was, it stumbled in some places. Elia loved Ser Arthur Dayne, and Rhaella loved Ser Bonifer Hasty. But Rhaenys was free now, and her heart was hers to give. "You said the Bay of Seals is four days from here," she uttered.

"Aye."

"Then we should start walking."

Robb smiled, and gently squeezed her hand. "Let me put me clothes on first, nihhara, lest there's more you'd like to take off me." That prodded a small smile from Rhaenys, and an even wider grin from him. "Gods have mercy on me. You do smile." That made her smile even more, more than she had in a very long time. The pleasant feeling of freedom began to spread its wings out in her chest, as if such a little bird had been roosting in her heart, waiting for the moment. 

"You'll like Starkdalen," Robb promised her, as he pulled his shirts back on. "It's colder, a bit more harsh than these lands, but there's beauty, even there."

It was always winter beyond the Wall, Rhaenys remembered, and she had never even seen a snowflake. "What about your people?" She asked. 

"We're a proud folk. We farm and forge the little we can, and rest we trade or take." He smiled kindly at her. "Many call us wolves, but you'll be no lamb." It was another promise by him, one she was grateful for. Strange lands, strange people, and she, a strange girl among them. Rhaenys bit her lip again, staring out to the calm waters of the stream. She would have to be braver than she had ever been in all her life. She closed her eyes and took a breath. She was Queen Elia's daughter. _I can be brave._

Rhaenys looked back to Robb, now fully dressed. She came off from the stone, retrieving his bow. When she handed it to him, he refused it with a shake of his head. "Keep it. Can't do much with this arm." He took the sling of his quiver and slipped it over her head and behind her shoulder. "Seems you know your way with a bow. You're full o' surprises."

"One of my father's knights taught me to shoot and hunt." Rhaenys looked back to the curved bow in her hand. The wood of it was bone-white, and she recognized that it was weirwood. She slung it over her shoulder. A four day journey by foot seemed daunting, but she was determined to make it through. _I haven't changed my mind, brother. I never will_. Rhaenys and Robb clambered back up the hill, where Grey Wind dutifully waited for them, and they started their way east, leaving the stream (and Castle Black) further behind them. 

Ever so often, their shoulders would brush against each other's, but Rhaenys wouldn't flinch away. When a gentle breeze stirred her loose curls, and Robb reached out to catch a tendril between his fingers. "You'll rouse some wonder back home, nihhara," he remarked. "I doubt any free folk seen any with a coloring like yours. Not had I, 'til you." 

"I got it from my mother's blood."

"That the blood your ancestors was trying to keep pure?"

"Oh no," Rhaenys replied solemnly. "That blood runs in my...in my brother. He's what Targaryens are meant to look like. Pale like the moon, hair spun like silver, and eyes like amethyst. Beautiful."

"You're beautiful," Robb uttered, tucking the curl of hair behind her ear.

Her cousin Arianne had told her that Dornish girls didn't blush, but nevertheless, Rhaenys felt a shy heat rise to her face. "Could you tell me more about Starkdalen?" She asked sensibly. 

"There's much to tell of," he mused. "Best to speak first o' Bran the Builder, the first magnar."

"Magnar?" She echoed. 

"Lord, in Old Tongue." Rhaenys knew little about the ancient mother tongue of the First Men. The Red Keep's maester had said that their written words were runes craved upon stones and slabs, but storytelling preserved their histories, passed down from one to another. Many assumed that the language simply died out due to its primitive nature, but just as the direwolves, it lingered beyond the Wall. 

"But before Bran was Magnar of Starkdalen," Robb continued. "He was a king. The King o' Winter. The free folk only have need for a king when a time of great darkness nears. Bran was chosen when the white walkers were waken by their Night King, he who cursed the lands with long and terrible winters. Bran slew them all, and brought back the sun. The need for a king was no more, and his great legion scattered. But many stayed with him. Rather than live out their lives as wanderers, Bran led them and searched for a place to call their own. He found the earth along the river Antlers, close to the firth of the Shivering Sea, and rose Starkdalen. After his ashes returned to the earth, his son Brandon ruled as magnar, and after him, Torrhen. Ages of son and daughters o' Bran's blood, now to the time o' my father, Eddard."

Rhaenys had heard of Bran the Builder, the legendary king of the wildlings who slew the white walkers, otherworldly beings of ice and darkness. But in her world, he and the white walkers were only a story, one to frighten and captivate children. But just as the direwolves and the Old Tongue lived beyond the Wall, it seemed that Bran the Builder did too, once a long time ago, survived by many descendants, including the man Rhaenys was looking at. "I didn't realize lords existed beyond the Wall," she said. "The way they speak of your kind in the south, you'd never know that." 

"Aye, we've laws and lords of our own. A rare sight in the true north, but there. Magnars and Clan Mothers don't live to rule over others, like your lords and kings do. The gods made the earth for all to share."

 _The gods_. Rhaenys realized where she was about to venture, the Seven held no power. It was the old gods that ruled, the nameless and faceless deities of trees, streams, snow and stone. The old gods were still revered in the North, with silent prayers before a heart tree, usually a weirwood with a face that had been carved upon its bark by its first worshipers. Even the Red Keep had its own heart tree, but its own was a great old oak tree covered with smokeberry vines, with red dragon's breath at its roots. Rhaenys had never seen a true heart tree. "I know little of your gods," she said. "Your lands, your people, your ways, i'm strange to them too... and we're still strangers ourselves."

"In time, you'll know the lands, the people and ways, and even the gods will know you." Robb gazed at her, a tender look that most maidens dreamed about. "And we won't be strangers forever."

They kept walking, through highlands and shadows of valleys, resting at the shores running streams and before shrubs of wildberries. Hours of them speaking. Robb spoke of his large family, his two sisters and two brothers, and a handful of cousins. Rhaenys spoke of the rest own family, the Targaryens, and a bit more fondly of the Martells. She even spoke of the knights who all had known her since she was a babe. It had saddened her terribly to speak of them, but her mother had told her that if could not be vulnerable before a man, then she had no reason to love him. 

When the sun greeted the horizon with its eventide banners of soft pinks, purples, and orange, Robb scouted for shelter; that night, it was another hollow, a bit steeper than the last. This time, Rhaenys allowed him to help her to the soft grass below. Robb made no mention of seeking warmth in each other again, and left her be with Grey Wind. But as Rhaenys curled her fingers into the direwolf's fur, she wondered what it would have been like to curl against Robb. The thought made her shy.

So it went for four more days, from first light to dusk. Early upon the fourth day, a brisk wind whistled through the lands, carrying with it the smell of salt. Rhaenys could have seen the bleak grey horizon from even a mile away. "Bay o' Seals," Robb declared, squinting out to it. Rhaenys wrapped her cloak around her a bit tighter. She had never seen waters so grey and dreary. And cold. Suddenly. Grey Wind's ears pricked up, and he quickly whipped around his head. His tail flicked back and forth. "Oh?" Robb wondered, smiling as he traced Grey Wind's gaze with his. 

Rhaenys' skin nearly leapt from her bones when she suddenly heard a scream. "ROBB!" A girl shrieked, bolting down the hill, a grey direwolf at her side. When she came close enough, she leapt at him, throwing her arms around his neck. 

"Not so loud, Arya," Robb chided, but grinning all the same. "The crows might hear." 

Arya drew her face away from the crook of his neck, and Rhaenys was able to see her properly. She had a young long face and a tangle of dark brown hair. Her eyes were stormy grey and wide from joy-- they quickly looked unto Rhaenys. "You did steal the girl!" She gasped. Rhaenys opened her mouth to insist otherwise, but decided it wasn't worth the bother, especially as the rest of Robb's kin followed Arya in her wake. Even though Robb had promised that no blood of his would reject her, she couldn't help the anxious twinge in her belly. "What's your name?" The girl asked; at least she seemed friendly.

"Rhaenys."

Arya grinned. "You're Robb's woman now. That makes us sisters."

 _Robb's woman_. Though Rhaenys would not agree that he stole her, she could not find want to demur. "I suppose it does," she mused remembering that there were three more children of the Magnar of Starkdalen's body that she would be a sister to; that is, Rhaenys knew, until she was truly Robb's wife. Which wasn't until they--

"That her then?!" A boy called out. He was younger than Robb, but older than Arya, with a long face as well, and his eyes were grey-green. At his heels were an older girl and boy who shared his look, along with a man about Robb's age, who greatly resembled Arya; beside him was a snowy white direwolf with red eyes, looking as solemn as he was. 

"Speak louder so the crows can hear," the girl scolded, as she looked over Rhaenys. "No wailing? Must've been better than I thought."

"She put up a fight, Marna," Robb said proudly. "Got a dagger to me throat, too."

Marna grinned, glancing at the man with Arya's coloring. "Delicate little thing, huh Jon?"

" _Delicate?_ " Rhaenys repeated, rather miffed about it. 

The man called Jon looked fairly sheepish. "How was I suppose to know?"

"I'm certain Robb will tell all 'bout it when we get back home," Marna remarked. "But we ought to head to the cliffs. That crows nest is near."

The crows nest had to have been the Eastwatch-by-the Sea, the easternmost castle along the Wall, upon the shores of the Bay of Seals. Rhaenys realized it was quite possible that Lord Commander Mormont would have warned them about her vanishing into the northlands with a wildling. She whispered her concern to Robb. "We'll leave as quick as we get to our boats," he said. He reached underneath her cloak to grasp her hand. "I won't let any crow take you." If they did, her father would never let her leave the Red Keep again, and she would surely be forced into the Great Sept with Aegon. And she would hate to leave Robb. Rhaenys wove her fingers into his-- she would really hate to leave him. 

One of the boys who shared Marna's look peered over his shoulder. "I'd rather if you two don't get naked in the boat," he teased, his grey-green eyes seemingly smirking as he did. Arya clouted his arm with the back of her hand, and left his side for Rhaenys'. "He's Beron," she told her, before pointing to the other boy. "And that's Creg." At the sound of his name, Creg glanced behind him, and smiled. "Creg's alright. Beron's an idiot." The grey direwolf that padded along them quietly yapped, as though reminding Arya of her. This wolf was smaller than Grey Wind (though just as massive). "Oh, and this is Bodi. Jon's is called Ghost." 

"Bodi was a great spearwife," Robb explained. "The queen of a lost tribe that roamed the Lands o' Always Winter."

"And many elders will tell you she was only a story," Creg called out.

"She was real!" Arya insisted. "She rode a great white she-wolf to battle, and slew the first white walkers."

The lands began to slope towards crags, where foamy waves crashed against the high rock face. The wildlings must have known the path by heart; not daunted by the dangerous cliffs that hemmed that coast. They walked half of a mile south, where the height of the crags rose and fell like valleys. Soon enough, there was a steep but much safer path down to the sandy shores of the Bay of Seals. Strewn across the strands were dirty green seaweed, bits of driftwood, and broken shells. From there, they followed the shoreline back north. "There," Jon grunted. In the shadow of a crag was a triplet of small boats fitted with oars. 

Rhaenys and Arya watched on as the rest dagged the boats into the water. Rhaenys's gaze wandered to the crowns of the looming cliffs. Oddly enough, she felt no sadness. True, her home would not go unmourned, and she would miss her mother quite terribly, above all the rest... but her life would not have been what she dreamt for it to be. 

When the boats were in the water, Marna beckoned them to the shore, looking all around her as water lapped at her boots. Arya leapt into one of them, and Rhaenys followed behind her. Robb gave the boat a last push before jumping into it. In their wake, the other two boats followed, along with the three direwolves, who all treaded through the churning waters with ease. Rhaenys thought to take once last look behind her, until she remembered something her aunt Daenerys said: _if I look back, I am lost._

So instead, she looked to Robb. As he rowed the boat away from the shore, he caught her gaze. She would never agree with the wildling that he stole her...but he did steal her heart. She never knew a sweetness like it before, and for a little while, it startled her just how quickly it bloomed its way into her heart. 

"Let's go home," said Robb.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried with the "wildling" accent and I know I fell short, so pls be nice to me. I came up with "nihhara" from the old english words for night and hair, though I always thought the Old Tongue as based on Norse, but like I said, I tried. Also I figured Nymeria the direwolf wouldn't still be called Nymeria, so I changed her name (Bodi was based off Boudica).
> 
> I don't plan on making this too long (no more than 3 or 4 chapters). It was nice to take a break from "from the north wind" and write something new for my favorite crack ship.


End file.
